


Knit One, Purl One; Double, Treble.

by SilverMyfanwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Children, Christmas Jumpers, Crochet, Diagon Alley, Dragons, F/M, Français | French, Friendship, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Hogwarts, Knitted scarves, Knitting, Minor Injuries, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, SPEW, Safehouses, Sofas becuase why the heck not, The Burrow (Harry Potter), injuries, like literally - Freeform, this is so headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMyfanwy/pseuds/SilverMyfanwy
Summary: Molly knitting, Fleur doing crochet, Harry trying to knit and Hermione making house elf hats again.<>Now with artwork!





	Knit One, Purl One; Double, Treble.

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent fluff that I wrote by hand in six days.  
> This totally happened in my headcanon universe.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I loved writing it.

                                                                                                

Molly had been knitting for as long as she could remember: sitting on her mother’s lap at five years old and letting well practised hands guide her small ones through the basics, making hats for her brothers when they went to Hogwarts, making her own Gryffindor scarf in first year, then making endless piles of random articles when the war was raging because she needed something to do with her hands as she waited for her brothers to come home and then Christmas jumpers for her family, every year, in hideous colours (which she made a point of doing except for Harry, Hermione or one who’d been particularly good that year) with a huge letter on the front.

She had knitted every item of clothing each of her children had worn as babies: Bill, Charlie, sickly Percy, my how her fingers had ached with Fred and George, Ron, and finally all the pretty delicate patterns she’d been saving up for years with Ginny. Then they grew up, each and every one of them, and she was making jumpers for Christmas and hats, scarves and gloves during the summer for the ones going to Hogwarts. The ones at home just got a pot of fire tucked under their jumper and a few heating spells cast on them.

The ones at Hogwarts moved up the years; Bill doing so well and getting a job with Gringotts, Charlie being asked to play for England but going after the dragons he so loved instead, Percy following in Bill’s footsteps and becoming head boy, Fred and George causing so much trouble but being so happy, Ron making friends with Harry Potter and getting into scrape after scrape, and then one day Ginny was getting on the train on the first of September too. It had been one of the strangest experiences of her life, going back to an empty house and knitting in silence as the only sound was that of clucking chickens. No laughter and yelling from Quidditch in the field, no Percy scribbling notes in the kitchen and no Ginny humming as she read a book.

She’d knitted through it all. Ginny’s possession in her first year, Ron’s broken leg and a murdered on the loose the year after, Harry in that dratted death-trap of a competition, Percy walking out on them, Fred and George flying out of Hogwarts, Bill and Fleur getting together and then the second war. That awful, awful war, where she lost her son and countless others.

But Teddy Lupin had needed clothes and Fleur was soon expecting a baby so there was no choice but to carry on knitting.

Molly knitted every day. Every night after dinner, when she was listening to the radio or talking to someone her needles would be _click clack click clack_ ing away. She’d tried to teach Bill, when he was little, but he had shown no interest and she’d attempted to get Ginny interested but she’d been too busy hankering over Quidditch and turned her nose up at it. She had tried to hide her glee when Fleur sat next to her on the sofa one night and started to crotchet something pale blue and dainty.

Fleur didn’t get a Christmas jumper the first year. She hadn’t earnt it at that point. She would have got one the second year, but there was no way Molly could get Christmas presents to anyone; holed up in a safehouse with almost no contact with the outside world as she was. It was the third year, the third Christmas Fleur had been in the family when she finally got her jumper. It was dark green and black, and fitted perfectly, if Molly did say so herself.

Fleur had cried. “But eet iz so beautiful!” she had wept.

The next Christmas, Fleur had given Molly an orange crotched shawl. Then it was her turn to cry.

Whenever Bill was away for work, Fleur would take her children- Victoire, Dominique and little Louis- to the Burrow. Occasionally she would go to France to stay with her own family, but mostly she came to the Burrow where there was always an extra pair of hands willing to hold a bay, or an extra pair of eyes to watch Dominique, and plenty of small cousins and big aunts and uncles and adopted members of the family. And there was Molly, who she had grown so close to and got on so well with, even though they had their differences. In the evenings, when the children were in bed and any guests had gone home, Fleur and Molly would sit on the sofa; Molly knitting endless jumpers in all shapes and sizes and Fleur making endless blankets because English winters (and summers) were cold and babies puke a lot and toddlers get snot everywhere, so a few spare never went amiss.

One autumn a few years later, when Ginny had sprained her ankle in a Quidditch match and had been sent to the Burrow so she could recover under Mrs Weasley’s watchful eye (professional Quidditch players in Britain were only allowed magical healing for major injuries, so as to try and prevent illegal enhancement), Harry had started to learn to knit.

Mrs Weasley had come home from Diagon Alley one evening and found Harry sitting on the rug in the living room, with his back against the sofa, doggedly working away at trying to cast-on with eight-millimeter needles and DK wool. She stood in the doorway and watched him silently for a moment as he frowned at the needles, the wool and the instruction booklet balancing on his crossed ankles, hair getting in his eyes and glasses slipping down his nose.

“Would you like some help?” she offered quietly.

Harry looked up and grinned sheepishly, the same grin he’d had when Ron had brought him home in the flying car. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

Mrs Weasley and Harry sat on the floor for several hours, Molly beaming with joy as she finally had a child she could teach how to knit, as Ginny slept under a blanket in an armchair in the corner.

“Are you knitting, Harry, or am I still dreaming?” she asked blearily when she woke up.

“I’m knitting!” Harry cheered. “I’m doing it, look, I’m doing it!” and he was.

Harry soon joined Fleur and Molly on the sofa in the evenings, much to Ron and Ginny’s disgust. Harry would be muttering the stitches away under his breath and crossing each row of the pattern out on a piece of parchment, occasionally asking Molly for help when he got stuck of had the wrong number of stitches, Fleur would be flicking her wrist and singing softly in French and Molly would be making jumper after jumper, at times stopping to correct Harry’s technique.

By Christmas, Hermione had taken up position on the arm of the sofa to Harry’s right and was making house elf hats again; not for the house elves themselves this time as her research had proven that the house elves didn’t take them. Instead, she was making the hats to sell to people in aid of HERIL- House Elf Rights Improvement League, which was only a slightly better name than SPEW. She didn’t knit the hats herself, she enchanted a pair of needles to do so for her so she could read at the same time, but she still had to adjust the pattern regularly.

They could sit like that for hours, all mumbling and muttering in their own language. Hermione with her complicated spells, Fleur with her French, Harry counting stitches and Mrs Weasley sitting contentedly in the middle of it all.

_“Knit one, purl one…”_

_“Adere-tres!”_

_“Seven, eight, nine…”_

_“Double, treble…”_

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about knitting and writing and stuff on WordPress!  
> https://bewareofthestorieswithin.wordpress.com/  
> Adere-tres is Latin for 'add three'.  
> Art to follow!  
> (One day, in like two weeks if I can get my act together. And who knows, maybe it'll be half good?)
> 
> Update: Art is here!


End file.
